


Psychedelic

by krystalliumm



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Author is a Clay | Dream Apologist (Video Blogging RPF), Blood and Gore, Clay | Dream Needs a Hug (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream-centric (Video Blogging RPF), Crying, Demonic Possession, Demons, Dreamons, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Guilt, Heavy Angst, Hurt Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Dehumanization, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Manipulation, Mental Abuse, Mind Manipulation, Nightmare Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Other, Pain, Pandora's Vault, Regret, Sad Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Sad Ending, Self-Hatred, Self-Worth Issues, Suffering, The Author Regrets Nothing, Touch-Starved, Touch-Starved Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-15 05:26:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29803584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/krystalliumm/pseuds/krystalliumm
Summary: "Doesn't it feel good, Dream?"There had always been a tiny comfort in knowing that even if everyone else had left him, thrown him away as an outcast—Nightmare would always be there, brushing golden strands away from his tear-streaked face and whispering soft croons to soothe him.Dream didn't know where things went so horribly wrong.
Relationships: Cara | CaptainPuffy & Clay | Dream, Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF) & Everyone, Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 462
Collections: Dream SMP fics





	1. Oh, How I Delight

**Author's Note:**

> this fic was my go-to place to vent for the last for weeks, so beware when things get too dark in the story. remember to go through the tags properly!!
> 
> ❀
> 
> dream/george can be read romantically or platonically.

“Doesn’t it feel good, Dream?”

He didn’t need to look up to know who had spoken—and what sinister grin was being thrown down his way. He could only focus on his harsh, ragged breaths as his eyes slipped shut, his shaking hands fisted in his tousled hair.

“Come on, love,” the voice crooned in a sing-song voice, a phantom hand reaching to gently brush a golden strand away from his face. “There’s no need to hide, it’s just you and me.”

* * *

_Dream let himself melt into his arms, sniffling at the tiny, pathetic sobs that escaped him. He wasn’t one to cry—and wasn’t one to break down and have a panic attack either. He could already feel a firm heat rising to his cheeks, furious at himself for letting his walls down, even just this once._

_The one time he couldn’t keep his bottled emotions in. Mother would’ve been disappointed._

_“You don’t have to hide all the time, you know,” George murmured into his hair, his hands threading through the tangled locks. “It’s not like your forbidden to let it out every now and then.”_

_The blond choked out a dry laugh, his throat sore. “I’m pretty sure I am.”_

_“Mm,” George hummed into his skin. “What makes you say that?”_

_Dream grew silent, letting himself be vulnerable for once—and enjoy the warmth that came along with it. When George’s hand fell limp beside him, he knew the brunet had fallen asleep in a peaceful slumber._

_Without a second thought, Dream pulled himself out of his grasp and walked out the door._

* * *

He let his head rise, his eyes glossed as he stared at the promising figure of darkness before him. The soft smile that Nightmare wore on his face was one of a sweetly kind—Dream could only wonder when was the last time anybody ever looked at him like that.

He couldn’t remember.

But Nightmare can.

Dream could trust him—he was the only one who’s ever been there for him, who’s always been at his side. He was the only one who stayed with him no matter what, always drowning his thoughts out with mellow words and soft praises.

At first, he hated it. Despised it, even.

But when it all became too much, too much for him to handle… he always found himself leaning into that darkness for comfort. Craving for more touches. Breaking down in shuddering gasps. Nightmare did that for him.

_I can trust him,_ Dream’s mind said in an endless repeat as he lets Nightmare caress him with a lover’s kindness, wiping away the wet tears that trailed down his face. _I trust him,_ he whispered to himself again, unaware of the slow smirk that pulled on the other’s mouth.

“Why—why are you doing all this?” whispered Dream, wincing as his voice cracked. He caught the concerned frown that formed on Nightmare’s face when he pushed him away, away from _him._ “Why do I matter to you so much?”

“Because I care,” said Nightmare daintily, his head tilting to the side. “And they _don’t.”_

Dream’s toes curled, his glassy gaze fixed elsewhere rather than the monster before him. He inhaled softly as a fading trail of sunlight went through the thin crack on his walls, varnished and twinkling, nothing like his pale and daunted skin.

He ignored how it stung—how those quiet words echoed too loudly in his ears, as if they were taunting him. Calling him a coward. Telling him that he was a monster that deserved it. Deserved this. Deserved the insults. Deserved to be _abandoned—_

Dream swallowed down the sob that built up on the back of his throat. It was a pathetic—there was once a time when he could easily hide and control his emotions from the world, all behind a smiling mask. But now, he felt so vulnerable and exposed, so…

_Shattered._

Nightmare sighed at him, almost like a disappointed parent. “When will you accept it, Dream?” his name—his friends used to call him that, before it all went to hell. “When will you finally realise that the longer you stay here, the more likely they’re going to put you in that prison?”

_Prison._

Obsidian walls. Scorching lava. Ticking clock.

Dream’s heart beat faster. “They’d never—my friends would never do that,” he whispered, knowing he wasn’t the only one who heard his voice break.

Nightmare hummed, a melancholy tone that fell from his ghost-white lips. He kneeled before Dream, a sad look on his face—as if he were pitying him. “And what if they do, Dream? What would you do?”

Dream’s mouth parted slightly to say something, but nothing came out. His mind drifted off, and all he could think about was the order he’d given Sam to have the prison built. He never knew why he’d done it, but something dark and soulless inside him knew the perfect, sickening reason why.

His own, flawless prison—a home to lock himself up in.

Dream wondered if it would be George to stand up to him, tell him of all the crimes he’s done, then shove him roughly behind lava walls. Or maybe it’d be Sapnap, knowing he could easily restrain Dream if he tried hard enough with the help of weakness potions forced down his throat.

He imagined everyone else standing aside with delighted smiles on their faces, watching as Dream got taken away. He imagined them celebrating after, laughing and clinking glasses that swirled with sweet honey, finally being the family they were meant to be.

A family without him—that was the price.

Dream only remembered he wasn’t alone in the midst of unruffled silence when a hand shifted on his hair, delicately dropping to cup his left cheek—charred and dry of tears.

  
“I’ll destroy them for you,” Nightmare murmured fondly. “I’ll kill each and every one of them.”

“What?” Dream stared at him, at the whirl of darkness that had been with him for eternity, horror washing over his face. This—this was what fear felt like. “But they—they’re my—”

Then, Nightmare laughed. An ugly, cruel sound that made the blond flinch at the utter malice laced beneath. “You don’t even understand, do you?” he sneered, baring his teeth. “You should’ve seen them when they looked at you. They think you’re a _monster.”_

Dream’s breath hitched. He wanted to say it was true, but some aching part of him hoped that it wasn’t. That maybe his friends still looked at him, not with pure hate, but with mirth glowing in their eyes. Because that was how family looked at each other.

But Dream wasn’t one of them. He’ll never be, he realised.

And when he met a blank, porcelain gaze, he was screaming in agony—kicking and fighting back against the shadows that captured him, strong and powerful, as if someone had taken away his sight, his—his _body—_

Nightmare laughed. Said something. Dream didn’t know what it was.

All he knew was that it hadn’t been him who got up, and walked out with his axe swinging over his shoulder.

* * *

“That’s unfair!” protested George, huffing as he crossed his arms. His iron sword was long forgotten as it was furiously flung across the field. “I almost caught it!”

Sapnap snickered at him, awfully amused at the scowl on the brunet’s face. “Maybe if you hadn’t mistaken your _bread_ as a bow, then maybe you might’ve gotten a better shot.”

“But—” George threw his hands up— “I’m colorblind!” he insisted miserably, only making Sapnap laugh harder.

Times like this barely went by anymore, not since Dream had left them, used them, said that he didn’t _care_ about any of them… They never spoke about it, never mentioned the blond they sorely missed, pretended like nothing had happened at all and everything was just like it was—

And George was _sick_ of it.

He was tired of excitedly turning his head to tell Dream a joke, only for his smile to fade and realise he wasn’t there. He was tired of looking at things—old memories that they both built, reminding him of the loud wheezes his friend would make.

George vaguely wondered if Dream could still laugh like that.  
  


He missed him.

A lot more than he’d admit.

Sapnap’s laugh quieted down, and if brunet hadn’t been paying attention, he wouldn’t have noticed the way the other suddenly went rigid as his face drained of colour.

  
“What is it?” George asked him, knitting his eyebrows together at the abrupt change of mood between them. He whipped his head to glance behind him, squinting to find anything unusual.

“Huh,” Sapnap muttered to himself, though the doubt still shone in his eyes. “I thought I saw something. Must’ve imagined it.”

George let out a small chuckle, shaking his head. He bent down to hastily grasp the hilt of his sword from the ground, then got up to breathe in the crisp, earthy scent of his home.

He frowned.

It didn’t smell like home.

When did those dull, grey clouds take over? Why did the flowers around him look so withered, as if they’d collapse into dust if he dared touch them? Why did everything look so lifeless, so _miserable,_ so unlike the place he’d grown up in—

“Sapnap,” he found himself croaking out, his mouth suddenly dry.

“Yeah?” the black-haired man called behind him, still weaving through the twisted leaves and branches before he finally made it up front, breathing heavily through his nose. “What is it?”

“I… I don’t think you imagined it,” whispered George, and he could barely make out Sapnap peering around them before halting to a stop.

Because from far away, yet close enough to make his body go numb and cold, was a silhouette—wearing that infamous hoodie, a shower of dirty blond hair atop his head, and…

Dream smiled wickedly at them, and this time, neither of them missed the way he carried himself like a king.

Like a royal walking into his own exile.


	2. In Serene Melancholy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here it is. imma say it again just in case:
> 
> read the tags!!

“That’s not…”

It was. George hated it. That couldn’t be him. That couldn’t be the same person he knew all those years ago.

He tried to think of the kind, soft-hearted face under that mask—because George knew that face was still there, even if the cruel grin that Dream wore now completely ruined the image, even if the axe he carried promised death, even if—

“George,” he heard a soft warning fall from Sapnap’s lips, but the brunet didn’t have it in him to care. All he could look at was the tattered hoodie, grimed with dust and dirt, blood smeared on his freckled skin, along with that blank and calculative smile that promised nothing kind for this world…

And when Dream laughed, it was filled with a dangerous, unmarked edge that made him flinch—and George knew he wasn’t the only one who had taken a step back.

When had the others gotten here? Did they see Dream from faraway before George and Sapnap did? Why didn’t they do anything?

Why did they just stand there and do _nothing?_

Before he knew it, several people were already reaching for their netherite weapons, their movements cautious and tentative as they glanced at one another. Puffy hadn’t reached for hers yet, her eyes wide as silent tears fell down her cheeks.

Unlike the others, Tommy hadn't hesitated—the gleam in his eye was dark as he pointed his sword straight at the grinning blond. “What do you want now, Dream?” he hissed.

“I’m here!” said Dream excitedly, carelessly swinging his axe over the gravel as if it were the lightest thing in the world. “Aren’t you happy? I mean, _surely_ you’re not one to back out from a fight?”

* * *

_“Here, let me see.”_

_Dream’s skeptical gaze flickered to him as he cradled his hand closer to his chest, only kept together by a wet cloth that wrapped around it in a hasty attempt to cut the blood off._

_When George gave him a stern look, he gave in with a sigh._

_The brunet swallowed as he unraveled the cloth, revealing a broken wrist with a jut of bone stiffly sticking out. He found himself holding Dream’s hand, soothingly rubbing the blond’s cold fingers in an attempt to calm him._

_“Hurts,” whispered Dream._

_“Sorry.” George glanced up before snatching a roll of bandage from the side, knowing it wasn’t only his hands that were trembling. “You have got to be more careful,” he murmured, carefully pressing in on the wound._

_“You—” Dream let out a pained noise, his fingers curling as his words came out as a croaked rasp. “You know I never back down from fights, George.”_

_“I know,” he sighed. “But you can’t just go after everyone who wants to get you.”_

_He didn’t notice the way Dream’s green eyes shifted into a lifeless black, and the way how bold defiance glinted there._

* * *

George’s heart thumped wildly in his ears, a sickly feeling dropping to his stomach. This was it, then—Dream would fight all of them at once, show no mercy with his deadly axe, then watch as blood spurted and tinted the world in red.

But something in the back of his mind knew, no matter how strong nor swift the blond was, no matter how many years he’s trained and become the greatest player amongst everyone… It was still one god against his own mortals.

This would be the first battle where, once and for all, the feared and powerful Dream will be _defeated._

And somehow, Tommy knew that too, because an unwavering smile graced his face as he cocked his head to the side. “You sure about that, Dream?” he looked to his side, his peers, almost mockingly. “One would think you’d have more _allies_ by your side to fight all of us at once.”

“Allies?” Dream’s drawls were spider-like; out of this world. “I don’t need allies.”

“That’s a good thing, then.” Sam had stepped up, his face twisted into a passionate, roaring hatred that made the rest of them shudder. “At least you know that no sane soul would ever side with someone like _you.”_

Dream laughed again, and this time, George didn’t miss the way how most people had already brought out their weapons, their eyes narrowed and cold and unwavering. Even Sapnap had drawn his out, the grasp on his sword tight enough to make his knuckles go painfully bone-white.

George’s fingers twitched.

Dream peered at them, tilting his head to the side as his laugh died down to no more than small, pitiful chuckles. He would never forget the way the blond’s voice dropped, how his blank mask pierced right through him, how a voice in the back of his head told him to _kill, kill, kill—_

Because monsters were made to be _killed—_

And—and Dream was _one_ of them, everyone knew that, but George didn’t want to actually _hurt_ him—

So _why_ was he reaching for his fucking _sword_ as if he _wanted_ to—

_“Try me.”_

An axe was raised, swords and arrows flew across the field, and no one heard the broken plead from the small cage where the blond was hidden.

In the dark, Nightmare only smiled as he whirled.

* * *

Dream’s heart thundered against his chest, and he kept shouting until his screams grew hoarse—he knew who was holding him back, who had him chained away, who was controlling the cruel words that were spat out like poison. 

_That’s not me,_ he tried to whisper, his breath hitching at the cold stares that bore into his skin, _that’s not me, that’s not me, I swear—_

But who were they to believe him?

Tommy snarled at him, the many insults and threats that rolled off his tongue drowned out by the heartless laughter that echoed from his own throat. There was a cold, unforgiving fire in his eyes—such pure, utter _disgust._

Dream cried out when a sharp, throbbing pain hit his back. Tears sprung out from his eyes, but he shut them as tightly as he could and relished in every stab of agony that slashed through his skin. It was always him who felt the agony, the _torture,_ because Nightmare was a demon—monsters like him had no souls.

As every second ticked by, he found himself shutting out the noise. The echoes of his friends screaming, the furious clinks of iron and netherite, the whips of honed arrows missing his body by barely an inch, the taunts that Nightmare gave with a sneer—

“We can talk this out, Dream,” growled Sapnap, his voice rough as he swiftly parried his nimble maneuvers with a pained grunt. “Just drop the axe, surrender, and maybe we can work something out.”

Nightmare laughed humorlessly at the failed attempt to distract him, twisting around sharply to knock a stunned Sam off his feet. But even then, George had already reached him, his face contorted into a driven fury as his own blade swung at the demon’s face.

_Wait._

His broken, porcelain mask clattered to the floor.

He always knew there was a time it’d finally fall to bits, considering he had it for most of his life, but not like this. Not when Nightmare was still in full control. Not when it was—it was _George_ who tore it apart, revealing his hidden face to the rest of the world.

But why was—

Why was George looking at him like that?

Dream let out a shaky exhale, eyes wide as the brunet stared coldly at him, with such raging fire in his eyes as a sword dug into his parched throat. He wished he could do something, anything to let that bitter feeling inside him go away.

But he couldn’t.

And Nightmare knew this too, because he only cocked his head to the side, slowly breathing in the lurid scent of blood that stained the earth. When he blinked his eyes open, empty and painted with a void of black, he smiled.

“Nice try, _mortal.”_

The sword quivered slightly. Many people held their breath.

“You’re not—” Sapnap staggered to his feet, the grip on his axe growing tighter as he glanced at him with a wild look to his face. “What happened to your eyes?”

“Hm?” Nightmare hummed innocently, and with unimaginable speed that only an otherworldly being could have, his hand wrapped around the sharp edges of the sword pointed to his throat. He grinned, even as night-dark blood spilled from his palm once whilst he tossed it away, making George gasp as he stepped back.

They all stared at him, horror washing over their faces at the dripping blood, calloused hands, and spotless eyes—almost as if he felt no pain at all, almost as if he _were—_

“Nightmare,” a small voice whispered from the crowd. Everyone turned.

“Ah.” The demon only smiled again, ignoring Dream’s panicked pleads for him to stop. He bore his blank stare towards the boy, his voice alarmingly soft and sweet. “Dream told me all about you, Tubbo.”

“But he—we banished you a long time ago.” George was shaking, trembling. There it was—fear. 

Nightmare laughed darkly. “Did you really think you could get rid of me that easily?” he sneered, eyes alight with a psychotic flame. “You should’ve seen your precious little friend after I took over— _begging_ for me to spare your lives.”

A strangled sob escaped Puffy’s throat, her sword clattering to the floor as she fell to her knees. Some of their weapons had wavered in their hands, and even Tommy’s axe had lost its firm grip on its adorned hilt.

“How long?” Sapnap rasped out, his voice cracking.

Nightmare offered him a small, delicate frown. “How would I know?” he sighed mockingly, right before he slipped his eyes shut and rolled his neck back in nonchalance. “Though, I suppose your little Dream could tell you, hm?”

When Nightmare lurched forwards, they stumbled back and raised their swords once more in alarm, even if their faces didn’t hold the same defiance it had before—if anything, they looked… lost. Confused.

Even more so when the shaking blond glanced back up at them, slowly, and were greeted with tear-filled eyes.

Sapnap faltered. George’s hands trembled.

They were _green._

“Dream?” someone whispered.

It never reached his ears.

All Dream could do was stare brokenly at his bloodied palms and the smiling mask he’d always cared for, wondering if he dared meet their gazes, he’d see the burning hatred he rightfully deserved.

Would George be the one to finish him off, now that this time, there was no mask to protect him?

Would he be the one to raise his axe, slit his throat?

_Tell them,_ Nightmare crooned at him, _tell them how long I’ve been here with you, my love._

“Nine months,” Dream choked out, his mouth dry as it felt like sandpaper. His skin stung, and his bones felt like they’ve been ripped apart. And hell, he was—he was _shaking,_ and his mind was screaming to stop because he’d always grown up knowing that it was a sign of weakness to _cry_ like a little child—

But it hurt so much.

And Dream would give anything to be a child again—forget about the wars, forget about Nightmare, and it would be just him and his friends chasing each other with laughter bubbling in the air.

How had it come to this?

Just barely, with the small bits of confidence he had left—an old, familiar feeling that reminded him of his delighted, past self—Dream parted his lips slightly to whisper an apology. Or maybe a simple greeting. Anything would have done.

But his lips fell silent, and shame washed over his face.

He could only gasp when Nightmare resurfaced, eyes blinking before it was painted with a starless black. His mouth was pulled into a broad, cruel grin that looked nothing like the broken boy that had stood there earlier.

The demon scoffed, bringing his hand up to delicately wipe away at his tears, ignoring how the dried blood on his palms smeared at his cheek. “How pathetic,” he drawled out.

And something must’ve broke inside them, because all so suddenly, anger had arisen.

“Let _go_ of me!” screamed Puffy, her voice harsh and cracked as she fought against Niki’s iron hold, which was slowly crumbling. Her eyes were murderous, a look they’ve never seen on the kind-hearted woman before. _“Dream!”_

“I mean, honestly—" Nightmare laughed loudly, his fingers curling against the sharp tip of his netherite axe, “—you should’ve seen how easy it was to make him believe that you all hated him. Such a perfect little _toy_ to play with.”

They swung at him, the small bound of restraints snapping.

Nightmare only chuckled to himself. The fire that had been in their narrowed eyes earlier were put out.

Now, it was replaced with doubt. Clear hesitation. Because they knew Dream was still in there, the Dream that was their friend, the Dream that never did any of the things the demon had done.

“You _bitch,”_ hissed Tommy, lashing out to aim at his face, only for Nightmare to laugh softly when he missed and tore his sleeve instead. Sapnap had also come from behind, and so did George with a growl, thinking they could all take him out at once with the shaking grips on their swords and wretched shouts as blood spurted everywhere.

Nightmare had always thought fighting with mortals was a fun past-time.

So he whirled, his lips pulled into a wide grin as he knocked someone off their feet, his body merely a blur of deadly night amidst all of them. The demon delighted in hearing the crack of bone whenever his hits became too lethal, or when a desperate cry of help would echo in the air.

That was until Puffy got behind him, her face twisted into pained regret as she lifted her axe.

Nightmare saw her before it was too late. He snarled, right as he shoved someone away with a stolen shield. The demon threw it aside, the loud clinks of metal ringing in his ears, just as he met her icy gaze.

His eyes flickered green.

Puffy hesitated.

_Mom,_ Dream whispered, wishing he could claw out and reach for her. Her hugs had always been warm. _Mom, please._

His eyes glinted a sliver of black once more, and it was too late for Puffy to notice as she was ruthlessly thrown back, a shocked gasp escaping her before terrified shouts followed with it. She fell on her back as harsh gravel scraped at her skin and drew blood, her axe long forgotten as hurt flashed in her eyes.

Dream had only realised what he’d done—what the monster inside him had done—when he glanced down and saw Puffy looking at him in pure _horror._

“You humans are ridiculous," Nightmare laughed cruelly, shaking his head in disappointment as he threw his axe over his shoulder. “Always letting your guard down at everything you see."

_Wait, stop._

The demon froze for a moment. He didn’t hear the threats that were thrown at him—the pounding in his head suddenly became too loud.

_Don’t._

Nightmare growled, brushing away at the other soul that fought control for his body. He breathed harshly through his nose as he took a step back, his fingers curling into fists.

_Don’t you dare touch my mother._

The demon faltered. He couldn’t feel his hands, and the splintered feel of his axe faded into nothing. The eyes that blinked weren’t his.

And then, he realised.

Cunning little Dream—always disobeying him.

“…Dream?”

Nightmare offered himself a small chuckle. He shifted, and calmly tried to take control of the body once more. He frowned at the restraints that kept him away, made of ivory and void-like darkness.

_You didn’t._

Dream heard it, the quiet whisper of a warning in the back of his mind, but ignored it like it was nothing. As if it didn’t hurt with every breath he took. Instead, he let his axe fall from his trembling hands, let his weak knees thud to the bloodied ground, let his eyes meet his friends—his _mother._

Dream wondered if he should say sorry, but he knew there was no time for that. He could already feel the demon snarling inside him, clawing out of his body, clouding his mind like fog as he whispered out the only word he could say.

_“Run.”_

And a scream broke out of his throat.

He must’ve sounded so wrecked, so _destroyed._

Dream heard distant shouts for him, filled with panic and worry, but he didn’t have enough time to even think about them once—Nightmare was screeching, high-pitched and piercing in his ears as he felt like a part of him was being _torn away._

He cried out as a phantom hand shoved him to the ground, fingers curling around his throat as a dangerous warning. The yells in the back suddenly sounded so faraway as Nightmare loomed over him, sneering and rasping out in harsh, breathy puffs.

“How naughty, Dreamie,” the demon rasped, his eyes glinting with a dark, delighted sort of promise that made the blond flinch away—but only for him to realise there was a dagger poking the side of his neck. “I thought you would’ve learned your lesson after the many times you failed me.”

_Failed, failed, failed._

“Get away from him!” shouted Sapnap, but it only served to make the dagger sink deeper, making Dream tremble and their eyes widen.

A threat.

And then Nightmare leaned over, his voice soft and sickly sweet, repeating words that he knew haunted the blond every night.

_“My perfect, broken thing.”_

Dream could already feel the shame curling in his stomach, the way he instantly melted as he listened to everything the demon told him with a croon—and all he could think about was what his friends thought of him, so pliant and weak under Nightmare’s touch.

_“When will you stop fighting me, Dream?”_

Dream hated how easily he could’ve gotten rid of the dagger stuck to his throat, how achingly simple it would’ve been to fight back and turn things around. He’s done it for years—he could remember manhunts with George and Sapnap, and whenever they’d trap him with a sword to his neck and a triumphant smile, the blond always found a way to escape their clutches.

He remembered winning the manhunts with minutes to spare, along with the infamous half a heart. He remembered laughing with his friends afterwards, his knuckles brushing against glass as they got drunk under the sunset.

_“You’ll never be one of them.”_

Something inside Dream shattered. Maybe it was because he knew those words were true—maybe it was because he was tired of hearing the same things over and over again.

But suddenly, his hand was moving, and a raging fire in him shot out. He blindly twisted his arm underneath Nightmare’s hold, ignoring the cracks of dirt that scraped at his skin as the demon hissed, eyes widening by a fraction when he caught on to what Dream was trying to do.

The dagger felt heavy in his hand as he drove it home—inside the monster that was once him. 

Nightmare hadn’t seen it coming as his formless mouth parted into a silent scream of agony, tearing the grey-tinted sky apart with white noise. They only watched, their hearts tight and twisted as the demon started fading. 

They didn’t see Nightmare leaning over in the last moments of his death, his words soft like silk. 

_“I have never lied to you, Dream.”_

And the demon threw him one last sad smile, so real and _genuine_ as he became no more but ash and dust.

Dream started laughing.

He didn’t hear the broken sobs that called out for him, nor the pleads or mentions of his name. All that filled him was the utter delight that _Nightmare_ was gone, that he was finally in control, that he now had the chance to get his life together.

But why did he still feel so empty? So helpless?

This was what he wanted all along, so why wasn’t he fucking _happy?_

“Dream, please… please look at me.”

The sun rose, and he collapsed to his knees. Warmth had rushed to him almost instantly, hugging him close with whispered soothes, keeping him tight in their arms, as if they never wanted to let go of him ever again.

Dream’s throat felt too tight at the thought that maybe this was just another trick of Nightmare’s, that this was just another mind game to break him, but the way Puffy held him in her arms felt so _real._

It made him melt in the lingering warmth for a while, and before he knew it, he was crying. He’d forgotten what it felt like—to be cared for.

“In and out, my duckling… that’s it. Just let it all out.”

Suddenly, the sky seemed brighter.

And even then, everything still felt so dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...too dark?

**Author's Note:**

> comments are appreciated!


End file.
